Imaginary
by palmtreedragons
Summary: Tate tilted his head, a questioning act. "Would we call this the Murder House because people were murdered here, or because the Ten Commandments Killer is the new tenant?" Violet raised an eyebrow. "Does it matter?" Murder House/Hotel crossover.


It was foolish to think they could last.

John and Alex and Holden—they were immortal, their aging stopped. Scarlett was human. That right there was only the first of their many flaws.

They began living in hotels. Not the Cortez, of course.

That's when the real trouble began. Alex had changed since her turning. John had, too. He grew into a killer, but now his job was done. They needed to eat, and John found no trouble in finding a stray dog. The taste wasn't as nice, but it kept them alive.

Alex was harsher. When Holden would complain of their stray pet for a meal, she made a point of disappearing for hours. She always came back with fresh blood, and she wasn't so discreet about how she aqqcuired it.

John turned in the lumpy hotel mattress, sleep a long forgotten concept. Alex was gone again. Holden was bustled into his father's back, sleeping soundly. Scarlett was on the other side of her brother. The room was utterly still and silent.

"Dad?"

John remained motionless, for the darkness would reveal no picture even if he tried looking. His attention was entirely on his daughter, though. "Scarlett?"

There was a long pause. John almost mistook her as asleep once more. "I'm scared."

John flexed his jaw in the darkness, fingers working the sheets absentmindedly.

"Of what?"

It was a stupid question. Little girls were scared of many things. Little girls whose family were undead and drank human blood were scared of much less, surprisingly.

"I'm. . . . You don't _have_ to kill people, do you?"

"No," replied John softly. "Scar, what's this about?"

Another pause. "I'm scared of mom."

John wasn't sure what to say. What could you say? He disagreed with Alex's hunting methods, but she fed the family. At least, the nonliving portion. She had to do what was done.

Thats what he told himself, time and time again. Only Alex was turned by the countess, and a little bit of the Lady of the Hotel Cortez had rubbed off on his wife in the time after.

The night when Alex killed for fun was the last night he saw her.

They had a fallout after. John connected the dots, realized what her spare time was spent on. He recalled the night with Scarlett. He imagined his own son, small and frail, becoming a murderer by choice, and enjoying the sport. It was not a pleasant thought.

John had become a killer because he was chosen to fulfill a duty. That was behind him now. Alex, however, just couldn't seem to let go.

Both had decided it was best to send Scarlett off. Liz Taylor had an excellent recommendation for a school. What John did next was not a part of their agreement.

Alex was gone again. Most of the humans staying at the hotel we're already claimed for killing, so Alex took the ability to leave the property as an opportunity. John woke Holden, gathered their few things, and he left.

* * *

Nearly twenty years ago, a small boy discovered the basement. He was a thin boy with fair hair. He stumbled upon a spirit, weeping for her lost child.

Oh, how the story came full circle.

It was something of a game, scaring off the buyers. The Harmons were active in their theatrical hauntings. Every family thought to themselves that despite all odds, they could make it. Nobody stayed in the Murder House long.

Occasionally a family would come, or a couple. This time it was merely a man and his small boy. The unseen residents of the house felt something strange about the man's presence. They felt a darkness cling to him, something they had only felt in the house itself. The undead decided almost at once they would accept the challenge. The poor, poor man; he had no idea what they could do, as he followed the realtor blindly.

In another part of the house, a thin, pale boy discovered the basement. He stumbled upon a spirit.

"Hullo," the boy said simply once taking the stairs down. His platinum hair fell in messy wisps about his head.

"'Hullo,'" repeated the teenager, mimicking the accent. He sat in a chair that faced the stairs. His position suggested that he both was expecting solitude and company, but couldn't decide which was better.

"Who are you?" the boy asked, out of politeness rather than curiosity.

A slow smile unfurled along the teenager's lips. "I live here."

The boy's head cocked to the side in curiosity. "But daddy said _we_ would live here." He then added after a beat, "Maybe we could live here together."

Something evoked a laugh out of the strange teenager. Perhaps it was the innocence of the boy, or the small mumbled lisp that came with childhood. Maybe it was just the hair.

* * *

John signed the papers. The realtor left too soon after for it to be a good sign. The house wasn't too far from the Cortez, therefore he relied on hiding in plain sight. If Alex had decided to come looking for them, she would hopefully look anywhere but half an hour away.

In all honesty, the only problem with the house was the size. A bit too big for only Holden and himself. He had already lost his son in the pre-furnished structure. It took him several minutes after the realtor left to even find the basement. Creeping down the steps, John followed the sound of his son's small voice.

There Holden sat, in front of an empty chair, chatting away.

"Holden?" John asked.

Slowly, his son turned to face him. "Hullo, daddy."

"What are you doing down here?" he asked, eyeing the dreary and grimy surfacing. It was the most abandoned part of the house, seemingly untouched for years. Dirt and dust coated most everything.

"I made a friend."

The side of John's mouth twitched upwards. Holden never lived long enough to reach his imaginary friend phase, but Scarlett had. Those were some interesting years.

"Is that so?" This earned an enthusiastic nod from his son. "Well, how about we find you a room? We don't have much to unpack, but maybe we can find some things to make this a bit more homey."

Holden nodded, pushing himself to his feet. He obediently followed John up the stairs. "Only if I can have Tate's room. He says it has the best view."

* * *

 **Written an hour after I finished the season five finale, I cannot get enough of this headcanon. By far, season one and five are my favorites, and the interconnectivity is unending. I had to tweak the ending a bit, but imagine what potential this could have! I wish to continue this, especially if people enjoy it.**

 **A/N: None of the characters or any original AHS plot is mine. I am but a humble blogger.**

 **By the way, Happen Halloween! Hope you have a spoopy night. Thanks for reading, you guys!**

 **Stay awesome, my dudes!**

 **~palmtreedragons**


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